“Hey Miss! How’s the good life?”
I would spot John Walsh in the distance, waiting on the track wearing his black biker’s jacket, and anticipated his usual greeting that, no matter what mood I would reach him in, was guaranteed to bring a smile to my face. Though he expected his athletes to take sessions seriously, each and every encounter would be seasoned with at least one outbreak of laughter.
How could all this be a mere memory? I look at the photos of John on the Facebook page set up in his honour and disbelief prevails over all emotions. How could such a health-conscious, energetic, ever-present man not roam among us anymore? Every morning I open my box of supplements only to remember how he was the one to detect the reasons behind my fatigue, suggesting the vitamins I needed to regain my energy, to the last milligramme. The little slip of paper he tore out of his notebook to write his “prescription” now has a special place in my diary.
John was a walking encyclopaedia, and his knowledge was in no way limited to his profession as coach and lecturer. We would hold enlightening conversations about anything under the sun, including life in general and, ironically, death. He shared his knowledge generously, giving undivided attention even to those he had never met before. One needn’t have been a top athlete to receive his care. A friend of mine who had never seen his face said she once received a long and detailed e-mail from him, a prompt response to her question, encouraging perseverance and including practical tips on how to improve performance. She is now sorry she never had the pleasure to thank him personally. Carpe diem.
Whatever he did, he did with passion. In her speech at the end of the Mass in which so many gathered to bid the last farewell, John’s sister mentioned how he had hopped from being an artist, to a rock star to a formula four driver, succeeding in all he did.
He loved life and lived it to the full. His spirit of adventure and freedom rubbed off onto others and he recounted his stories in such detail and with great humour that the tears of laughter were coupled with awe for this man full of courage.
He was and still is the personification of inspiration to me and to those who knew him well enough to be able to appreciate him. Carol, his beloved wife, says he was a no-nonsense man, who never broke a promise. He was reliable and trustworthy and in my opinion he had the personal qualities to earn the title “Sir”.
We will never again hear that guttural yell at the start of the Malta Marathon. John is in so many ways irreplaceable. He played an instrumental part in the birth of The Ladies’ Running Club, so if we are united today, it is also thanks to him. For this and so much more I shall never, ever forget him. And as his sister suggested, I shall not think of him in the grave but, quoting him, as “… out in the moonlight”.